


How Darcy Lewis Met the Avengers

by SwampWitch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Edited and now back up!, F/M, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Witch Darcy Lewis, but they kinda need to be bad guys in this, cant decide what to do with my hydra dorks in this, i dont normally make them bad guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:37:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwampWitch/pseuds/SwampWitch
Summary: After New Mexico, Darcy Lewis felt rudderless. She was a witch, and witches needed something to do. Her kind of witches needed people to look over, and protect, and heal. Darcy needed… something. Space maybe. Or maybe just a good cup of coffee. The question is how did Darcy collect the Avengers under her witchy wing? When her powers are revealed to the Avengers will they see her as a threat? And just what secrets does Darcy know about one James Buchanan Barnes?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to users Dragongoddess13, Archetype_ElectraHeart, and SilverRose42. They have been my primary inspiration for the creation of this storyline.

   Darcy Lewis met Sam Wilson first, after Thor, of course. When she recalls later that this was her first meeting with James Buchanan Barnes, Darcy would tell people that she met him later. She would forever claim that after Thor, she met Sam first. Not because she hadn't met James Buchanan Barnes already, but because that wasn't who he was anymore, and it wasn't who he was yet.

  
     Darcy Lewis met Sam Wilson first. While she never found out how it was that he managed to be a full- time Avenger as well as continue running meetings for the VA, she was glad that he did.

  
     It was early summer, but it was cold out, the way it gets in DC sometimes. Darcy had decided to visit family out in Baltimore. Anything to help ground herself. Now she felt hurt and confused, and ready to lash out at the world. But mostly hurt. After a few days, she decided that she needed a damn break, and she took herself to see the cherry trees in downtown DC. They had long since bloomed, but the trees were still pretty and the flowers around them were still pleasant.

  
     It was dark outside, and considering the events earlier in the year, she really hoped that no one would care that she was wandering around at night so close to the white house. With an almost warm cup of really bad coffee in hand, Darcy stopped in front of the National History building of the Smithsonian. Witch sense curled in Darcy's gut. One of the perks of being a witch was that you could always trust your gut feeling. The downside was that you had to learn what the feeling meant.

  
     Trying not to think of what the consequences would be when she was inevitably caught, she decided to try out a little breaking and entering. Watching the night time security guard pop out for a smoke was serendipitous, and Darcy slipped in the building behind him. Up the stairs and around the corner, and she stopped. Of course, there would be metal detectors. Toeing off her boots, and setting down her purse, she stepped through the security pass and looked for the stairs. Almost up to the top, Darcy felt the pull in her belly again. Turning, she sees a door marked as the roof access. Praying that the alarm won't go off, she heaves the door open and steps out into the breeze.

  
     Walking around the roof, Darcy stops at a little nook with a backpack and a jacket. While she is wondering why security would leave personal effects outside, she glances for a place to sit and stargaze, and try to find out why she has the feeling in her gut, and a movement catches her eye.

  
     A person. A man. There is a man. On the roof. At night. On the  _edge_. Of a very high building.  
      _Oh no._  All of Darcy's internal _fix this_  senses were going off. She slipped close as quietly as she could. Tattered clothes in sad repair over a slim body. Matted and unkempt hair looked like it harbored its own ecosystem. Darcy stepped closer. Gingerly stepping up onto the ledge, she reached out a hand to slip into his.

 


	2. Chapter 2

     "Hey. You're in my spot."

     "Hmmm?" Puzzled eyes glanced up at her. Then down- Darcy realized that she was holding a prosthetic hand, a metal one. He looked back up, scared and confused- and angry.  
     

     "This is my spot." His face shifted back to confusion. Darcy refused to back down, Whatever was wrong with this man could mean that he was dangerous, but Darcy needed to  _fix this._

     "Whenever I feel like everything is too much I find a good rooftop and think about how easy it would be to just... let myself fall."  
     Homeless guy snorts and shakes his head, but he hasn't dropped her hand, Darcy notices. "I think we've got a world of differences between you and I, Doll," Darcy smiles inwardly at that accent. This a New York boy, and that reminded her of home. Not family- home, but  _home-home._

  
_"_ I'm sure we do. But how we feel is the same. I know how it feels, dude. I know what it's like to lay awake because your mind won't let you sleep, but you're too tired to get up and do anything. I know what it feels like to ache so badly and so deeply that it feels like fire running through the veins in your arms all the way to your fingertips. That cannonball of dread in the pit of your stomach that makes you turn up your nose at food, no matter how hungry you are. I know."

     His gaze levels out into astonished surprise.

     "Like I said. You're in my spot."

     "Does it get easier?"

     "Dealing with it?"

     "Yeah."

     "Yeah. But it's still hard at first. It takes one tiny thing to send me down memory lane and then I'm just useless for the rest of the day. But, yeah. It gets easier."

     "I'm just... tired. But I shouldn't be. I should be stronger than this."

     "You're allowed to be both. You were a soldier, weren't you?"

     He seems so far away when he says, "Yeah, I think so. A century ago, maybe."

     "It always feels like forever on bad days. And it probably always will. You know when I was a kid my dad used to beat the hell out of me?" Shocked eyes give way to concern, and his fingers close in around Darcy's. " 'I've been abused' doesn't quite cut it anymore. It's bigger than being abused. Someone tried to take my life from me and turn it into their own outlet, their use, their own gain. I don't think of it as abuse. It's destruction. Someone tried to destroy me. And it looks like someone tried to destroy you, too."

     "I remember. Not everything. Not as much as I should. But I remember pieces. So many things I can't wish away, and not enough of who I'm supposed to be."  
     "You are not what someone has done to you, or what someone has ordered you to do, and neither am I. We are so much more than that. We deserve to be happy, even if everything inside of us is screaming that we don't deserve it."  
     

     Darcy shuddered involuntarily at the cold and the wind. The soldier notices and turns to face her. She offers a tiny smile, and says, "I'm really cold. Will you take me inside?"

     A nod. He steps down and reaches his hand out for Darcy, and she cheers inside. All of her  _fix this_  senses are quieting down. The soldier guides her to the fire stairwell he has propped open. As they head down she hears a very faint, "Thank you" from behind her.

     "Of course," Darcy smiles and she stops at her boots and purse and slips the shoes on her cold feet. "If you want, I can help you with that beard and hair, make you feel like who you really are?"

     He pauses. Walks over to a display in one of the most popular exhibits. He turns and whispers, "Can you make me look like him again?"


	3. Chapter 3

     The best part of a week later, after one Seargent Barnes had been shaved; trimmed; laundered; and fed, Darcy Lewis had left the man with a stack of notebooks and an old receipt with her number on it and instructions to "call for fucks sake if you ever need anything." After retrieving her things from the family house, Darcy knew she needed to escape before she felt even more damaged.  
     Darcy was worried. Barnes, after a quick and maybe slightly illegal search, was weighing heavily on her mind. The VA clinic wasn't too far, and Darcy needed any kind of insight she could garner if she was going to help Barnes at all. After some terribly pricey and generally terrible food, Darcy headed out. It was nice enough to walk, and she was hoping to see Barnes again.

     Slightly put out by the lack of the soldier, Darcy found herself in front of the white stone building. A false name with the cute girl at the check in desk so she could "lend moral support to her poor dear brother," was all in took to get a visitor pass to the veteran meetings down the hall. The only meeting in session on a dull Tuesday afternoon seemed to be for vets trying to get back into the swing of civilian life. A little over an hour in, and toward the end of the meeting Darcy realized two things: first, she was in no way capable of helping heal James Buchanan Barnes, who had been through so much more than all of these people, and second, the handsome dark-skinned man conducting the meeting absolutely was.  
Once the meeting was over, and he was organizing some paperwork, Darcy approached.

     "Mr. Wilson? Sam Wilson?"

     "Yup, that's me." If anyone could manage to smile with their voice alone, this man certainly did. "I see you're new here. It's totally okay to not want to speak in front of everybody, by the way, but it does help. It helps all of us that are trying to--"

     "I'm not here for me," Darcy interrupted. "I'm here for you."

     "Oh?" Sam's eyebrows raise.

     "I met someone. A soldier. He was standing on the edge of the Smithsonian roof last week." Sam looked like he was angry and sad all at once.

     "There isn't always a lot of support when these guys get home, you know?"

     "I believe it. I talked him down, but he needs more help than I can offer right now. I think more than anything he needs a friend. But I think he's not ready for it yet."

     "Sometimes, and it sucks, we have to wait for people to be ready on their own."

     "I think he needs you specifically. And I think he needs your friend, Captain Rogers. You see, this particular soldier has a metal hand."

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

     Darcy hated hospitals, and yet, here she was. The toxic smell of disinfectant, and the beeping, and the chatter, and the rolling waves of hurt and sick and dying people were overwhelming. The  _fix this_  inside of Darcy was boiling.

     Here she was. Next to an honest to gods Avenger. Two of them, actually, one a little worse for wear. The bedridden man was giving her the worst mix of hopeful and grieving and it was starting to make Darcy feel sick.

     "Captain--"

     "Steve."

     "Steve. I've told you, and I've told your friend Sam here just about everything. Barnes didn't hurt me. He never acted like he wanted to hurt anyone. He was ready to jump off that roof. His problem isn't that he can't remember everything, it's that he can't remember why he should. Yes, he has pieces missing, but that isn't as important as why he can't remember them. He still has to remember what they did to him. What they made him do. He has to live with that and still remember who he used to be. He is just struggling to find balance in all the pain he is in right now. He is running scared, you can't push him."

     "She's right, you know."

     The Captain, Steve, sighs deeply, resigned. "I can't just let him go. Even when I had nothing--"

     "I know, you had him. But right now, he isn't him. "

     "She's still right, man."

     "Sam."

     "Alright, alright. Just remember, are you doing this for him, or for you?"

     Darcy decides it is well and truly time to get going. "I really have to go, because my boss is going to get worried if I'm not there by tomorrow morning. And my boss is Jane Foster,  _Thor's_  Jane Foster. I need to get my ass to Manhattan. I promise you, you'll be able to get in touch, and so will he. I left him my number. If I leave now I can convince my boss to let me sleep on her couch until I find an apartment." 

  
     "If you must," Sam smiles and shakes her hand. Steve motions her over and shakes her hand as well.

  
     "Please, be careful. And if he does contact you, will you call me?" So much eagerness in bright blue eyes. Darcy is immediately lost.

     "Of course, Steve. But really, I have scientists to wrangle and feed, and egos to belittle." Both men lift a smirk at that. Once in the hallway, Sam calls out to her.

     "Miss Lewis?"

     "Yeah?

     "Take this." A small folded up paper with beautiful handwriting scrawls over the page.

     "What is it?"

     "Steve has a friend in New York. A subway- ride away from where you'll be working. He owns an apartment building, and he's got some rooms open. Steve swears the guy is honest and trustworthy."

     "Awesome! Where about in New York?"

     "Place called Bed- Stuy. It's not a Stark- issued hotel, but it's not a total loss."

     Darcy laughs, "That sounds great , Sam, thanks. And tell him I said thanks, too."

     "Will do, miss."

     Another "take care" later, and Darcy is fast-tracked for New York city.


	4. Chapter 4

     Bed- Stuy is terrible. Darcy loves it immediately. She was always a sucker for a run down little place that she could put enough love into to call  _hers_. The apartment in Bed- Stuy needed a lot of Darcy's love.

     She had heard rumors that an Avenger lived in the area, but she wasn't sure if she believed it. It certainly didn't feel like the kind of place a superhero would want to live in. Darcy went about unpacking her bag from an impromptu trip to the Catskills with some friends. A cute, quaint little town called Hunter. Nice place, old enough to appeal to the magic in Darcy's bones, but not the kind of place to be open about being a witch.  _Not that I'm likely to ever out myself anyway,_  she lamented to herself. But all in all in was a nice and quiet vacation, something that New York was not. A few bags of stitching things and some old books made Darcy a happy girl.

  
     The tiny matchbox of an apartment was perfect for Darcy. She had one of four loft apartments in the building, which gave her the space for a living room, a kitchen, and a loft bedroom where prying eyes did not see. She felt a little odd being back after a week away, but she chalked it up to having had no schedule to keep for eight days

     Gentle clicking on the tiles outside made her smile. As she descended her stairs towards the door, she heard a soft "Boof," meaning that Clint had come to see her, and he had brought Darcy's favorite dog in the world.

    A few knocks on the door, and Darcy was greeted with a face full of dog kisses and an embarrassed and rumpled looking Clint Barton. 

     "Hi Clint," Darcy said, kneeling down to give Lucky all her attention. "And hi boy, I missed you too, yes I did." All smiles, Darcy stood up and gave Clint a mildly questioning look. They had always gotten along. Never any fights between landlord and tenant, no bill disputes, the roof shindigs where she could bake cupcakes and make nurturing food for everyone- Clint even took her trash down is she didn't feel well. As far as Darcy was concerned, life in Clint's building was amazing. He understood her struggles with being hard of hearing, being almost entirely deaf himself, and he was passionate about dogs and coffee. That made him good people in Darcy's book.  
 

     "Hey. Jus' checkin' you got here okay. Heard from some friends that Hunter isn't the friendliest place." Darcy frowned. She was well aware of that, but for the average person in the area, Hunter was just a quiet, little town. Well and truly conservative, but nowhere could be perfect.

     "I'm fine, Clint, but thank you." Something was off. He was never chatty, but but something was off. He was too nervous, too tense. "Clint, is something bothering you? Do you want to come in and talk?" Clint made a guilty face and refused to meet her eyes. Darcy felt her hackles going up. Something was wrong. "Clint--"

     "Aww, Darce," he started.

     "Don't 'aww darce' me, what's going on Clint Barton?"

     He shifted around uneasily and rubbed at the back of his neck. His tee shirt rode up enough to reveal a section of a very toned body that Darcy absolutely refused to look at. Directly, anyway.

     Lucky whined and slunk into the apartment. "Darcy can we talk?"  
     

     "That sounds ominous, but, of course, we can, Clint. Come in, just tell me what's going on."

     He stepped in and she closed the door behind him, thankful that aall her unpacking had made its way to the upper part of the apartment. Lucky jumped up on the futon in the living room that pretended to be Darcy's couch. Clint sat down with the dog in a vain effort to settle him.

     "Coffee?"

     "Oh my God yes." Darcy handed Clint a cup of the darkest, blackest, strongest coffee she had.

     "Now spill."

     "I - you..." He heaved a sigh. "I came in here when you were gone, okay?" He stared at the wooden floor.

     Darcy felt disappointment settle into her chest. No wonder the apartment felt odd to her. Her space, her home, her sacred space, had had someone else in it. She felt intruded, her privacy violated.

     "Well, Mr. Barton," Clint flinched at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Darcy cut him off." MR. BARTON- This is, of course, your building, in which I am a mere tenant, and you are quite allowed to enter any unit on the premises that you feel is in violation of a law, or breaking the building code in some manner---"

     "Stop." Gravelly and upset tremors filled his voice, and Darcy had to quelm the urge to make that upset  _go away_. "I just needed to know." His voice was barely above a whisper.

     "Know? Know what?" Anxiety was starting to twist into Darcy's stomach.

     "Know if it was true that you're a witch."

     All the blood rushed in Darcy's ears, everything was white noise. Ice filled her veins and Darcy shut down completely. All her walls went up and her face went slack. There were only three rules she had to live by, just three, and that was the first one. The first thing she was ever taught. _Never reveal what you are to anyone that isn't a part of your household_. Darcy was panicking. Tears tracked down her face.  _The first rule, never reveal yourself, never reveal your gift, never tell anyone, never-_

     "--arcy? Hey, Darcy?" Clint had crossed the room and was gently shaking her shoulders. "Hey, are you okay? I'm sorry Darcy! Darcy?"

     "Clint, - why?" Darcy loved it here. In the six months that she had been here, she had people to care for. She felt her powers grow by the day, as she built herself up, and stockpiled her supplies. She loved New York. Loved her job. Loved Jane. Loved her apartment. She even begrudgingly loved Jane's boss, one Tony Stark. She would have to leave it all behind. "I can't stay here anymore."

     "WHAT! No no no no no! Darcy girl, I just needed to know. I didn't mean nothin' by it. I just needed to know if you could help me. I promise I won't tell anybody, I promise. I'll give you a secret for a secret, how's that?"

      Darcy's emotions were a maelstrom inside of her. "Help?"

     "Isn't that what witches do? Help?" For the first time since he'd come into the apartment, Clint looked unsure. 

     "Oh god, Clint- you are so stupid!  _I_  help people. My ilk of people help people, but not every witch is a good person, Clint! Not everyone means as well as you do, Clint."

     "Hawkeye." He whispered. Quiet. Darcy wasn't sure she had heard it.

     "What?"

     "Hawkeye. He's me, or I'm him, or - it's just, - aww, words-"  _Are you even kidding me._

     "I think I've got it. Clint if you're an Avenger, then why are you here? And how could I ever possibly help you?"

     "It's mine. Got to make do with what's yours, you know?" Back to looking sheepish now, Clint didn't make Darcy feel so upset. As she calmed she remembered Clin't point.

     "Clint? What's wrong?"

     "I can't sleep. I just keep seeing things. Things I feel like I shouldn't remember. Like I was there, but I wasn't me." Darcy's memory flashes back to the soldier on the edge of the building, all those months ago, and her heart breaks for both of them. Clint shifts uneasily from foot to foot, still wary. But with her emotions calming down, Darcy could feel the turmoil and the exhaustion coming off of him.

     "Sit down. I need to explain some things to you first, but I need to go grab some things. I'll be back down in a minute." Darcy dragged herself up to the loft, and opened her trunk of supplies. Piling some things into a bag to carry down, Darcy thought of how best to explain things to Clint.

 


	5. Chapter 5

     Thinking back to her first visit to Clint's building, Darcy remembers her first impression of Clint Barton, and wonders why it didn't click, then.

     A man was sitting on the front steps with a scruffy looking dog, and an honest to god bow- and- arrows. He was drinking black coffee straight from the glass carafe, and resting a bandaged face and arm against the rail. As Darcy neared, he sat up and drew back the nocked arrow.

     "Hey back off,  _bro_!" He sounded mad, and he sounded defensive, and mostly he sounded  _tired._  Inwardly Darcy was melting. This man was defending his apartment; in New York city; with a bow- and- arrows, and a dog. Darcy liked him immediately.

     "Um. Hey, bro." Darcy went for a meek little tone, knowing in her heart of hearts that this man would never shoot her. "I, uh, I think we have a mutual friend? He referred me here when I said I needed an apartment. Said you were trustworthy as they come. Guy named Steve?"

     Clint visibly deflated. Standing, he laid down the weapon. "Yeah, Steve's a great guy. Definitely got rooms, but they aren't, well- there was some stuff, and -"

     "I'm sure that it will be perfect. I'm a college grad, I've slept in far worse places than an apartment with a roof and a lockable door. I'm Darcy." Holding out her hand, Darcy gave him her best, and most sincere, smile.

     "Clint. Barton, if it matters." He seemed to pause and let his words sink in, wondering if this girl, no- this  _woman_ , recognized him. Wondering if Steve had told her. When she appeared indifferent, Clint relaxed. _Only a matter of time before she finds me out anyhow. Not like everyone else here doesn't know._

     "Well, Clint, why don't you show me around, and we can get the security deposit settled?"

     "Oh no, it's good. If Steve sent you, I'm sure you're good people." Shock spread across her features. At least that opened up her budget for the month, and that would allow her to settle in much faster.

     "Well, I will certainly take you up on that." Darcy couldn't keep the smile out of her voice. She looked up and the man that was Clint Barton, and he seemed... sleepy. And rumpled. The man made sweatpants look overly slept in. As they made their way to the top floor apartments, Darcy wondered if she could slip him some tea, or even some coffee, to help the poor man get some shut eye.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

     Snapping herself out of her reverie, Darcy went about collecting things from the trunk. Carefully going down the steep stairs but her bedroom with her arms full, Darcy looks back to Clint, and the bags under his eyes, and mentally chastises herself for not having seen it sooner.  "Clint, I said sit down. I need to explain how this works. First: I need you to understand that I am very, very angry right now. If you had a reason to come into my home I could accept that, but you intentionally came in here to snoop. Second: Not all witches are good. Not everyone with power or strength is good, you of all people should know that,  _Hawkeye._ Even a good person on a bad day can make a bad choice, and power changes people." Darcy was flitting around, setting down various bags and bottles and jars. Opening a small jar, she began to add some herbs: lavender and mint, a few pieces of star anise, mugwort, a very tiny pinch of valerian, a pinch of mullein, some jasmine flowers. She added a whole dried rose bud and a long point of amethyst. "Third: yes, I'm one of the 'good ones,' and as angry as I am right now, I will help you. Fourth, and last: and this is the part that you are not going like- involves the gods that I work with."

     "Gods? You mean like Thor, or-"

     "I mean exactly like Thor. He is one that I invoke fairly regularly."

     "Well, that doesn't sound so b-"

     "And so is Loki." The following silence was palpable and choking. Clint was recoiling, pale, and clammy. Darcy pulled him into a hug. "Shhh. Easy. Trust me, okay? There is nothing that I will do to hurt you, and I can help to protect you. My power, my gift, comes from the earth. Anyone can do it, but control is difficult. It takes practice. Most witches have a god or a goddess, and some, like me, have several. By honoring these deities, we are kept grounded, and sane. Some, like me, are given strength to their power, and to the depths of their control."

     Clint's breathing mellows out, and he asks shakily, "Can he still get in my head?"

     "No. It was never him that could. Loki is by no means saintly, but the presence that disrupted your life and inspired his madness- is gone. I'm not asking you to trust him, only to trust  _me._ " 


	6. Chapter 6

_\-----"... I'm not asking you to trust him, only to trust_ me _." -----_

 

“Let me help you, Clint. Stay here for the night.” Clint gave her a smirk. And not just a run of the mill, 'I’m- up- to- no- good' smirk, this smirk had  _intent_. “Uh- uh. You pack that train of thought up, right now. You will stay here to  _heal_ , no more, no less. You’re adorable, Barton, but you’re not my type.”

“You know, this doesn’t  _look_  like a witch’s apartment. Where’s all the smoke, and the green face and shit?”

“I’m going to smack you.”

“Promise?”

“You’re disgusting. And my apartment is very carefully laid out. I was taught to never reveal myself. Never to give away my gift except to those closest to me, or to those who needed my help. Congratulations, Clint Barton. You now know more about me than some of my past lovers.” Darcy smiled widely at Clint’s deep blush and wondered briefly if he was a full-body blusher before she chased the thought away. “I’ll need your consent.” She stated matter of factly.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy’s line?”

“If you’re aiming for funny, you missed. I take consent in all cases very seriously,  _as should you_.”

“Sorry, Darce.”

“Put your hands in mine.” He does so, a little hesitantly. “Good. Do you consent to be under the continual care and protection of the witch before you?”

“Umm, yeah?”

“Done.” A tingle crept up Darcy’s fingers, and Clint’s as well.

“I feel like we just got married.”  _And moment ruined. Thanks, Clint._

"No, doofus. Now I have permission, and power, to protect you, even heal you. Whatever you need.”

“Can we start with sleep?”

“Let’s start with sleep.” It was the best damn night of sleep that Clint had ever had, and Darcy mused to herself that while she had met Agent Barton before Sam, she met Hawkeye the Avenger after.

 


	7. Chapter 7

     Darcy was grinding herbs in the small mortar and pestle that she kept handy. Tonight, was a full moon, and while she typically did her witch workings on nights of a black moon, the full moon did have its uses. Case in point, healing herbs for the aggravating and adorable landlord currently sprawling in her bed.

     She smiled to herself as she heard Clint’s squeaky yawns as her stretched under her blankets. Seven and a half hours. Almost enough sleep for a human, which meant three times longer than Clint typically slept. He didn’t stir after they had lain down, even though he refused to meet her eyes while they awkwardly settled into the bed together. As far as Darcy could tell, he hadn’t had a single nightmare, and he already looked better for the rest.

     While Clint drew closer to consciousness, Darcy started a pot of soul- restoring black sludge coffee, a favorite of both her and Clint. She set a large, purple mug on the nightstand beside the bed for Clint, and went to finish unpacking her haul from Hunter. As she shelved the last book from her over- stuffed one dollar bag of books, she felt the floor shift slightly behind her.

     “Morning Sunshine. How do you feel?” Clint during the day had nothing on Clint right out of bed.  _How can one person be so rumpled?_

     “-nk you.” The words were barely half out when he collided into her shoulder and hugged the breath out of her.

     “Clint- breathing good, dying bad.” He stepped back immediately. “I take it that you feel better?” A nod, with his sheepish little grin. Darcy could sense no upset within, nothing that she needed to take care of. “Good.”

     With every ounce of strength in her body, Darcy leaned, swung, and threw all of her weight into a slap that knocked Clint to the floor. Squatting beside him while he tried to collect himself, she said calmly, “That was not for coming in apartment while I was gone. That was not for shoving your morning wood in my back at five this morning. That was because you came into the house of someone you suspected of being a witch, and tried to elicit help, without knowing if she was dangerous. Shame on you.”

     Shaking his head, his already poor hearing making his ears ring, Clint looked up into Darcy’s eyes. Seeing very real anger, and very real power there, his words died on his tongue. Trying again, he said, “I didn’ know what else ta do, Darce.”

     “I will help you. But promise me, keep your damn self away from magic, and further from people who use it.”

     “Yes ma’am.”

     “Now. Serious business.”

      “Can we get off the floor?”

     “No. How did you know I was a witch? I have worked very long, and very hard to be unnoticed in that regard.” She waited patiently for his answer, not allowed the nervous disquiet within her to show.

     “The bowl.”

     “What?”

     “I saw you, when I was headed back from the tower a few weeks ago. You had out a little copper bowl, and you were holding it up like an offering. The only other person I ever saw do that said she learned it from a witch.”

    “Wow.” Itching to slap Clint again, Darcy instead stood, and moved to the couch to sit more comfortably. “Come here Clint.”

     “Are you gonna hit me again?”

     “Probably not.”

     The couch groaned a bit, and Clint groaned a bit, as they each settled.

     “That little copper bowl has only a few very specific uses, and the one you saw, is s specific, that yes, anyone you see doing that, is very likely a witch. But I would dare to say that they mean you no harm. That is not a spell that you saw, but more of a devotion.”

     “To one of your gods?”

     “To a goddess, actually?”

     “Yeah, which one?”

     “Sigyn. She is the one who gives me the ability to control and hone my power. Without her, I would be completely lost. My power would consume me.”

     “See- jin? Who is See- jin?

     “Sigyn is Loki’s wife, the goddess of fidelity.”

     A grimace spread over Clint’s face, and Darcy felt compelled to say, “For what it’s worth, I don’t feel like she puts up with a lot of his bullshit.”

     “What does it mean?”

     “what, holding the bowl like that?”

     “Yeah.”

     “It’s an offering of sorts. In mythology, we learn that part of Loki’s punishment is to be bound in cave with venom dripping into his eyes. Sigyn holds the bowl to keep it out of his face. Holding the bowl is an offering along the lines of, ‘Let me take that for you, rest a moment.’”

     “I’m not sure that ever happened, Darce.”

     “And neither am I. Maybe I will never know. But I like to think of it as a metaphor of things that have happened, or could happen. Intentions count for a lot, you know. And there is so much more to the story than most people know. One day I’ll tell it to you. Wait until you hear about the children.”

     “Oh my god, Loki has kids?”

    “So many kids.”

     “I need more coffee.”

     “You need a shower, and I need to go to work.” Darcy started back to the loft to get dressed. “Oh, and Clint?”

     “Yeah?”

     “When you get out of the shower I want to know who it was you saw holding the bowl.” Without waiting for an answer, Darcy pulled her curtain across the opening to the stairs.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     Clint fidgeted nervously at the table while he ate half of a cold pizza that was hiding in the fridge for who knows how long.

     “She was a fire breather at the circus. She never talked much, but she always looked sad, so one day I asked her why she always looked ready to cry. She told me that the gods had stolen her kids, and she was mourning them.”

     Darcy’s heart clenched. “Clint, a lot of women who honor the Northern gods reach out to Freya, or Frigga, or Sif. In fact, due to her association with Loki, almost no one reaches out to Sigyn. You see, Sigyn is also the mourning mother, whose sons were stolen by the gods. She is alone, and in pain, and still, ever faithful. The Asgardians decided that Loki deserved to be punished. And so, of his two children with Sigyn, Narvi and Vali, one was transformed into a wolf, who then killed the other son. The entrails of Narvi were used to bind Loki to a rock, and Vali is full of madness and grief, and neither be reached nor placated. Sigyn had to watch, helpless against all of the Aesir, including your dear friend Thor, while her sons were destroyed. So, you see, Sigyn may be the least called upon, but those of us who do, love her dearly.”

     Clint was quiet for a long moment. “Do you really believe all that?” He asked quietly.

     “I believe what feels true. I’m not sure that I think Loki is still, or ever was bound in a cave, but I’m sure that there’s a grain truth to it. I’m sure that story about his children is true, though.”

     Clint was quiet again. “I don’t understand why they would kill somebody’s kid.”

     “Honestly? I think because it was Loki. Everyone likes to play the game of, ‘Look how different Loki is, look how much Loki hates us, Loki has nothing but contempt for us and for all of Asgard.’ But no one ever wondered why. Narvi and Vali are not the only children that were stolen from Loki. They were the children he had hidden here on Midgard with Sigyn, in the hope that they would be safe from all the realms. Even his tricks and magics couldn’t save them, though.”

     “What else?”

     “What else about what, Clint”

     “About Loki?”

     “That’s a story to finish another day. I’m going to be late as it is. Just remember Clint, you don’t have the full story.”

     "Hey Darce? How come you honor her? Loki's wife."

     Thoughts swirled in Darcy's mind, and pain stabbed her from long past memories. "One day I'll tell you Clint."

     As Clint left the apartment, with the charm bottle in hand and a murmured promise to keep it safe, Darcy latched the door, knowing Clint wouldn’t hear it. Thinking to herself how best to contact Sigyn, and see if her matron was well, and letting herself be saddened all over again by the hardships her lady had faced.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Remember, my girl, if someone is not within your household, they could be dangerous to you. It is proper to welcome guests, yes, the great Odin teaches us this, but also does he teach us to be wise. A guest is only a guest if you have welcomed them in, all others are intruders.”_

     The words of Darcy’s grandmother still echoed in the back of her mind while she worked. There was no way she could go in to work today, and paste a chipper smile on her face and talk about cats to the back of Jane’s head. Someone else was going to have to make sure her boss stayed caffeinated and fed. Darcy just didn’t have it today.

     Walking over to the wall where she kept several large bookshelves and a hutch full of tools, Darcy began cleaning. It always helped her to settle her mind to clean all of her tools and make sure everything was clean, dusted, and in what felt like the right place. She idly spoke to herself while worked, murmuring over what she needed more of, where she would need to go to get those things, and putting together her witch bag for the full moon work she would need to undertake tonight.

     Into the bag went several labeled but empty jars, her boxes of ritual tools, some candles, her runes, and an empty box with herb clippers; cloth scraps; and twine, just to be sure. Checking the time, she saw that she had been quite busy, as it was nearly eleven. Hoping to beat the worst of the lunch rush, Darcy shouldered her bag, and climbed out onto the fire escape. In no way did she want to face Clint again just yet.

     Once in the alley, and on solid ground, Darcy’s stomach began to turn. She was already feeling a little sick. It was getting close to Sigyn’s day, and she hadn’t planned out a ritual to honor her goddess, and re- pledge her service. It was also even closer to that  _other_  day. The world breaking day that had opened Darcy’s eyes in terms of her patron deities. Haunted by memories and her own grief, she began to make her way to the closest of the three shops in this part of New York that sold real items that witches could actually use.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     The entirety of the store smelled like high quality Nag Champa. The stuff imported from India, not the cheap stuff. Darcy’s favorite, which she was wishing she could enjoy a little more at the moment.

     “What do you mean you can’t get anymore?” Darcy seethed. “I chose to take a job in New York and find a place to live here entirely because I was told you carried it!”

     “I’m very sorry Miss Darcy, but the kind of rose petals you need aren’t grown in the states anymore. Maybe a private garden would have some, but we can’t even find an overseas vendor. I know they’re your favorite, but they were difficult to procure even before.” The tiny, and heavily pregnant shopkeeper looked a little distressed, and Darcy tried her best to settle down on her behalf.

     “I will have to look. They aren’t just my favorite, I need those specific ones, and I have never been successful with any others. Please keep looking?”

     “Of course, dear.”

     Leaving the shop with her snake sheds, some more mullein;  _By gods I go through so much of it;_ and a completely empty jar for rose petals, Darcy started toward central park. Hoping against hope that she would be able to find the roses she needed by the end of the month, she trudged through the autumn leaves.

     Noting a small group of teenagers who probably only aspired to be witches, Darcy slipped onto the trail that would take her into the portion of the park with the thickest cover of trees. As she headed further into the Ramble, Darcy stopped to collect some wild hemlock that everyone here probably thought was Queen Anne’s Lace. A sneaky plant, and Darcy felt that it’s mischievous nature could be employed somewhere.

     As she walked, and waited for the early dark of post- time change, Darcy collected herbs who needed to be collected in twilight, and waited for the full moon to come up. There were healing herbs she needed for Clint and she could only harvest them at the full moon. It was dangerous to harvest herbs after Samhain, during the season of death, but Darcy was not most witches. A witch of life and death and earth: if anyone could pull herbs this time of year, or talk to the dead, or perform seidr, it was Darcy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medical scene in this chapter is relevant to the plot later on. I am aware how little the chances of survival in this situation would be. It's crucial to a later plot point, I promise.

_“…I need 10 units of O negative and I need it now! Where is my surgeon, this girl is dying!” The nurse was shouting, but it all seemed so far away._

_Darcy could feel the pain, but she felt it as though her soul and consciousness were separate from her body. She felt like she was floating somewhere nearby. Everything was fuzzy, and hazy. The edges of her vision were getting dark. A sharp stab into her jugular wrestled her back to awareness._

_“Oh my god you’re here. Doctor what do we do? She had 20 units on the way in, and she has 10 now. I’ve called the neighboring hospitals to see if they have any O negative to spare until we get her typed.” The nurse was sharp, had pretty, dark features. Darcy liked her. Or at least she thought she would like her if she could think clearly._

_“My god what happened? How far along is she?” The doctor was young, too young. Darcy was uneasy._

_“We don’t know yet, at least seven months. Will she lose it?”_

_“We may have no choice,” he answered back grimly, “it may come down to the baby or the mother.”_

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

     Darcy struggled through the memory. Gods why did she relive this every time she went into the seidr-trance? Was there no other way? What was it she needed to be shown?

     Her fylgia, her beautiful black wolf, waited patiently for her attention, and began to guide her through the web of Yggdrasil’s branches. There were many places she would need to visit this night, many sections of wyrd to be rewoven, and she no time whatsoever to dally on her own orlog.

     Her distaff tightly in hand, Darcy began to shape, and weave, and reweave. Only the lower lying branches. Only those that she had permission to tamper with. It would not do to have the Norns angry with her. They were still quite angry with the stolen prophecy, and Darcy knew she would have to work quickly. In her own mortal plane the Norns could only act within mortal agency, but here, in this place, in the wyrd of all things- there was nothing they couldn’t do to her here. Reshaping the last strand of web to help secure Clint’s dreams, Darcy moved, following her wolf, trying not to stare at the scar on her left side that mirrored Darcy’s own.

     Once hovering near the branches of Yggdrasil that connected to Jotunheim, Darcy looked for Loki’s orlog. Those were branches that were sorely in need of pruning, and care. Unable to touch Yggdrasil directly, Darcy adjusted the wyrd around them, leaving room for Loki to stumble into the Avengers once more.  _One more time,_ she thought,  _and they will have him. He will be able to finally heal from the traumas of the mad titan._

     Sensing that her time was up, Darcy turned back to her fylgia, who had begun to pace. Coming back to her own orlog near Midgard, Darcy let her soul drift back down into the mortal realm.

     Dark. Everything was pitch black in central park. Immediately feeling threatened, Darcy waved off her fylgia, who could not protect her here, and quickly packed up her things. Ritual complete, and seidr done, she stood.

     “Hey pretty girl.”  _And there it is._ “Whatcha got there?” Turning to face the speaker, Darcy slowly smiled, the grimace of a smile reserved for the cursed insane, and those with arcane knowledge.

     “Uh, yeah, never mind lady. Fucking keep it.”

     Darcy let out a bark of laughter. She laughed and laughed. It shouldn’t be so funny how easy people were, but she was so tired now, and there was no time for this. As her would be attackers scampered back to the edge of the park, Darcy left the Ramble, and headed for home.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_*Knock knock*_

     “Boof?”

     “Yes lucky, it’s me.”  _*wag wag wag wag wag shuffle shuffle scraaaaape*_

     “Hey Darce.”  _Rumple fairy strikes again._

     “Clint, here.” Darcy handed Clint a small wooden box full of fresh hemlock. “Don’t ever open it, or you will never sleep properly again, and also might die.”

     “What.” 

     “Yeah.”

     “I’m goin’ back ta bed.”

     “You do that.”

     Darcy headed to her own apartment, and let herself in. She felt as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. As she trudged up the stairs to her bed, she felt the tug at the edge of her consciousness, signaling that Loki wanted to speak to her.

     “Why? Why now? Can’t it be in the morning? I have to go see Claire at the hospital tomorrow. I promised I would stop by when I got back to New York and I haven’t done it yet.”

     A sharper tug, not quite painful, had Darcy settling on her bed. “I’m going to make myself a sign that says ‘I aten’t dead’ on it, I swear.” Darcy relaxed, and closed her eyes, waiting on the Trickster to show himself.


	10. Chapter 10

     The world seemed dark and grey when Darcy opened her eyes. Her body was tired and the strain of keeping up the connection here was shaky at best.

     “Loki?” she hazarded.

     His voice was strange in this place, all echo and shadows. The words were clear but sounded stuttered, as though they were being spoken several times almost all at once. “You are aware,” the Trickster began, “that there are those who would bow and grovel before me?”

     “I’m glad you’re amused, but I would like to remind you that I don’t answer to you.”

     “Simply because Sigyn holds your bond does not mean that I cannot destroy you.” He was straining too, barely on edges of his sanity. The toll of the mad titan had been enormous, and while the controlling presence had left Loki, he was, by no means, well.

     “I would like to  _very politely_  remind you that I don’t answer to you.”

     “Why have you been in the branches of Yggdrasil? What changes have you wrought?”

     Darcy shifted a little uneasily. “I am making changes for the betterment of your situation.” It was just vague enough of a truth that the bold lie underneath was masked from him.

     “Oh?” His face split into a smile that may have fooled most people, but Darcy knew better. This was no innocence. The Trickster did not like his Wyrd meddled with by any other but himself, never mind that he was currently unable to do so.

     “Yes, I promise you that it will be an incredible surprise.” At this Darcy grinned, entirely neglecting to tell him that this particular surprise would make him hate her for many days to come, and would win her no favor to the Avengers, either.

     “Very well,” the Trickster seemed a bit placated, “You may go.”

     Slipping back into her body, Darcy sat up. Her ears ringing, and exhaustion dragging her down, she laid back down to rest, contemplating how to enact her plans to bring the Trickster into the Avengers’ grasp.

 


	11. Chapter 11

     Darcy woke up in pain. Every muscle ached, and her head was pounding. A parting gift from the Trickster, she supposed. There was so much planning that she needed to do, and so many small things that would need to add up if it was to seem that she had played no part.

     First things first. Call Jane and tell her how late to expect her.

     It was getting to be so tedious to pretend to be the mild little airhead that she was expected to be, but she genuinely liked Jane. Tony too, when he behaved. After this long of being brash and silly, they might be angry at being deceived. Jane would certainly be upset that Darcy had withheld her gifts from her for so long. Some things just couldn’t be helped though.

     Darcy collected everything she wanted for the day, and headed for the subway. She had put Claire off long enough.

\------------------------------

     Claire Temple was a testament to human strength. As she watched her in action with the ER patients, she thought of the man on the roof so many months ago, and if Claire might be able to help him. If she ever found him. Darcy knew that it was only a matter of time before she had James Barnes in her sight again.

     “Darcy!” Claire wrapped her in a hug that seemed impossible for as tiny a woman as she was. “How are things going?”

     “They’re going- haven’t stopped yet.” Darcy smiled weakly, feeling tears pull at the corner of her eyes.

     “Hey, hey- let’s step out here.” Claire pulled Darcy into the nurse’s station.

     It was difficult to see her in person after so long. The last time she had seen Claire she was bleeding to death on a gurney. Claire’s face was the first she saw when she woke up. Claire was the one that had told her how lucky she was to be alive, never mind that luck had nothing to do with it, and she was also the one to break the news to Darcy about the baby.

     Oh, the baby. Now Darcy was crying all over Claire. They had kept in touch, but nothing was the same as seeing in person the woman that had told you your baby couldn’t be saved.

     “Oh Darcy. You still haven’t been to see that therapist, have you?”

     Darcy grimaced. “I went. Once.”

     “Let me figure out what my week looks like. We should go to lunch. I’ll help you find someone that you’re actually comfortable with.”

     “Are you sure you aren’t a witch?” Darcy asked quietly. “You are so fucking perfect and efficient. How do you keep up with everything?”

     “Girl there’s a voice in the back of my head every day yelling at me threatening me with a wooden spoon if I don’t keep my shit together.” Claire smiled.

     “Come on. Come sit down, we have some catching up to do.”

  

 


End file.
